


Forget-me-nots covered in ash

by Theshycreeper



Series: Old songs with long dead notes [4]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Bad Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Bird Hybrid Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Brotherly Angst, Dead TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Dead Wilbur Soot, Gen, Good Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Good Sibling Wilbur Soot, Good Wilbur Soot, Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Hybrid Wilbur Soot, Insane Wilbur Soot, Kid TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Kid Wilbur Soot, Language of Flowers, Mild Gore, No Romance, No Smut, Other, Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Pig Hybrid Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Post-Episode AU: s02e13 Doomsday, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Ranboo & TommyInnit Friendship (Video Blogging RPF), Sad Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Scared TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Twins Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Villain Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-23 00:01:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30046824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theshycreeper/pseuds/Theshycreeper
Summary: Tommy never got Wilbur’s deal flowers. Something about the meaning of some and the messages you could send using them.He never really payed all that much attention, he sometimes whishes he did. If he did, he would know if he got the right kinds.Not that it mattered now.Flowers tell a tale, but in the end they're just that, and the reality of those tales often hurt.Tommy visiting his brothers "grave" . An unwelcoming meeting, and someone visiting his.
Relationships: Ranboo & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo & Phil Watson, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot, TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Series: Old songs with long dead notes [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2102001
Comments: 4
Kudos: 150





	Forget-me-nots covered in ash

**Author's Note:**

> another fic in the garbage line, idk and outdated but i dont care  
> dont expect perfect grammar and i love reading all the comments i get, thanks to those coming back from other works

Tommy lets out a sigh as the warm breeze blows through his hair, rustling the leaves of nearby trees and bushes, and lifting flecks of ash, thrusting it into the wind.  
Making it blow past his face accompanied by the smell of ash in the air.

He steps forward, brushing a hand against charred and peeling bark, locking his eyes on the ashen wood, instead of letting them wander to the still steaming carter.

His bandaged and shaking hands grip the flowers tightly, crumpling some of the petals, causing them to fall to the burnt ground. Tommy pulls his hand away from the bark and runs it through his hair, breathing deep through his nose, and tries not to cough at the smell of smoke that greets him. 

He shuts his eyes tightly, do what _He_ , taught you. “Ten, nine, eight, seven…” He mutters quietly, as he kneels down. knees landing with a soft, thump, on the burnt land, blackened grass crunching loudly under his weight.

“Six, Five…” He continues, as he brings the flowers to his chest. Bringing his other hand close to run over and smooth the crumpled petals. 

“Four, Three...” He grasps gently at a Sage, pulling it from the small group in his hand and sets it down at the charred tree’s base. 

“Two...” He picks the Lillie next, cusping it in his hand, and carefully setting it on the ground next to the sage. 

“One…” Tommy breaths out, as he twirls the rose in hand, uncaring at the thorns prick at his hands and snag lightly on the bandages. He stares down at the crimson petals, some shriveled, some, curled up toward the center, looking as lively and bright as _He_ , once did. 

With a deep sigh he sets the rose down next to the Sage and Lillie and stares down at the flowers with lidded eyes, even as they water. The sight isn’t exactly what one could call “pretty”.

The burnt wood looks toxic with its black exterior and hollowed insides. The flowers are crumpled and starting to wilt already, the toxic air around them seeming to sap the life from them, just as it did to those who once lived here. The sky is dark and stormy with the looming presence of an obsidian grid, casting shadow across the land.  
Worst of all is the crater, a deep scar on the earth’s surface. Reaching all the way down to the void’s barrier, still fresh with ash and smoke. 

Tommy shakes his head quickly, forcing his eyes away from the crater to the flowers once more.

“Hey, bitch” he shuffles on his feet.

“Flowers are for pussies but, I got you some anyways” His now crossed arms tighten closer to his chest, and his cracked and dirtied nails dig into his skin. 

“Cause you are one……. I think those are the right ones, I don’t know…” 

He fists the shriveled grass beneath him with a sigh. “Not like it matters anyway.” 

Tommy never got Wilbur’s deal flowers, something to do with meaning, and the poet shit he liked. He never paid that much attention, not like he cared anyway, it didn’t interest him. No matter what Tubbo might say. 

“Why do people need to talk using flowers anyways, it’s dumb...” His breath chokes on the toxic air, and the tears burning in his eyes stream down his ashen face. 

“You’re dumb, you…. you were a wrongen.” Another deep inhale, doing his best to ignore the feeling of long familiar smoke in his lungs. He braces himself and stands, muttering lowly. 

“Dick’ead…” He looks at the flowers one last time, eyes then scanning up and down what’s left of the tree, the L’mantree. After all the wars its now burnt to a crisp, dead, just like the one who made its namesake. 

Tommy really didn’t want to come here honestly, didn’t want to have to visit the crater of what was left of his brother. The place his father and brother descended upon them and their land. 

His father’s wings even charred, spread wide, and were just as imposing as they were when he was a small child, clung to Wilbur’s sweater, with tears running down his face, as the two yelled. 

His young, fear riddled brain unable to make it out, only knowing that, he didn’t like this. Wilbur was shaking, he seemed more and more scarred the louder the man got, making him shake in turn. 

The fight had come to an end when his brother screamed at the top of his lungs, yelling and swearing at their father, voice seeming to physically lash forward like a viper, and just as venomous as one. Sinking fanged teeth into tender flesh, and dealing a deadly, painful blow to the winged elder man. Making him take half a step back. 

Tommy may not know, nor remember what was said. But, he certainly remembered the silence after. The cold and tense coil that hung heavy in the air and on their shoulders. Leaving his brother trembling and barely standing from the weight of it. And leaving Phil standing, head listed to the side, gaze elsewhere. Still, silent and seemingly unaffected by the weight if it weren’t for the twitching of his wings. 

That is, until their father stepped forward, teeth grit and wings spreading in a threatening arc, casting a looming shadow over their forms, glaring down with eyes an icy, blue. Filled with cold fury. 

And Wilbur, Wilbur had flinched back, viper once filled with a bitter pride at it’s bite now recoiling in fear, as words died on his tongue and body shifting to hide the younger from view of The Angel’s fury. 

Something flashed in The Angel’s eyes then, before he pinched his brow with a resigned sigh and shooed them off to their room. Wilbur not wasting a second, scooped the shaking younger in his arms, rushing down the hall. Ignoring the look Techno gave him as he passed, he shut the door quickly behind them, hand hovering over the lock before tentatively pulling away. 

Tommy had wiggled out of the elder’s arms and ran further into the room, rushing to Tubbo. who had been huddled between the wall and bed, with his hands clasped over his ears, wiggling his way in and grasping the other with shaking hands, content to hold him as they both cried. Leaving his brother to pant through shuttered and broken, watery gasps by the door. 

Tommy blinks with a gasp as he shakes his head quickly, he gets lost in his head a lot these days, usually when green bitch is involved. Things were a lot simpler back then, even if not exactly great. Moments he hadn’t thought twice of when younger, have a truth that’s uglier now that he’s older. Still, it was easier. 

He coughs and wipes his ash covered hands and bandages on his pants, stepping back from the tree and looking down at the flowers. 

This place wasn’t even where his brothers’ body is, he thinks so anyways. 

Wilbur never did get a grave, and he doesn’t know where the body is.  
For all he knows its still in that _damn_ room, that acted as a show of his brother’s downfall. 

A set piece for a mad man. His body could still be in the remains of that room, his throat feels dry with ash. 

If he were to tread through the ruins, climb down the crater and go to where the room once was, still, somewhat intact. Where it was once boarded up and sealed away, writing still manically etched into the walls and untouched, would he find him? 

Would he see the burnt, mangled corpse of his brother there, skin blacked and charred from the explosions, peeling to show muscle and bone, and a gaping hole in his chest, now covered in a layer of crusted over blood and puss. laying still and unaffected by his symphony’s grand finale, oblivious to it all? 

Or, would it have fallen? Would the body have been knocked during the explosions brought on by his family, and the man he stood against the moment he came to this realm? Is the body laying broken at the bottom of the crater, weak rotting bones in pieces, body more like that of a slime’s, with a thin layer of thin, leathery, burnt flesh? 

Most of all, would it even be there at all? 

Had his brother’s remains, if they had ever still been in that room to begin with, been destroyed too? Had his brother been scorched and turned into ash, much like the home they made.  
Is his brother’s remains gone, blown up by a traitorous family just like the last reminder he had of him, the real him. 

Was all of who his brother really was, once, gone? 

Vomit burns at the back of throat, he feels gross, wrong, as he forces his eyes open, when had they closed? 

What the fuck was wrong with him? 

The thought of checking through the rubble and walking into that room, of seeing him, of not seeing him. Makes him feel sick to his core. He sucks in a seething breath through grit teeth. 

__“I bet you wound up somewhere real stupid, like uh, like uh…” The choked-out words die on his tongue, prime dammit. His vision starts to blur more.__

____

Tommy groans and huffs, bringing a bandaged hand to wipe angrily at his eyes. He can feel his breath pick up, he needs to leave. >

____

__“You got your dumbass flowers, you better like them, bitch.” He forces out, adding a “bitch” at the end for good measure. The shell of his brother, Ghostbur would probably love these, if he was still around._ _

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__The ghost had disappeared not long after doomsday. Leaving him with a request to revive him then seeming to drop off the map. It’s not like the ghost hasn’t done this before, even if he’s always come back, he doesn’t know if he will. Tommy hopes so. Maybe, he moved on after L’manberg fell, maybe he’s just around and just not visiting him, despite him telling Tommy that he wanted to be brought back._ _

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__He could be looking for someone to bring him back. He could be with Dream.  
Tommy’s hands clench, Balling into fists. He hopes that isn’t the case, Ghostbur is far too easy too manipulate._ _

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___Who are you to talk, Tommy shakes his head. But, what can he really do about it. Nothing, really._ _ _

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___Even still, Ghostbur isn’t really his brother, not Wilbur, though he does care for the ghost, he knows they’re different people._ _ _

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Tommy shakes his head again, feeling dizzy. He turns, eyes lingering on the flowers. 

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___Sage, Lillie and rose, one last time, before turning._ _ _

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___“I hope it’s right…. Bye, Wilbur.” A stronger gust of warm wind blows against his face, messing his hair._ _ _

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___“Miss you…” “I love you”, goes unsaid, never spoken words drifting with the wind._ _ _

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___He starts to walk away, stride quickening with each step._ _ _

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___Wanting nothing more than to leave the remains of his home, when the familiar feeling of a hand much bigger than his own brushing through his hair, makes him freeze.  
Breathing stuttering and hands clenching at his sides._ _ _

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___ _

___Smiling through bloodied teeth he looks down on Tommy warmly, “I knew you would forget...”_ _ _

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___His hand settled on the wild, platinum blond hair of his younger brother, runs through the locks gently._ __

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___“Forget-me-nots.”_ _ _

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Wilbur says with a soft sigh, as the veil tugs at him. He looks at the younger for a moment more, committing the image to memory as best he can. Before he exhales slowly, letting himself go with it and back into the void. 

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Tommy shaking form heaves as he feels the invisible weight leave, and takes off in a sprint, running as far away from the tree as possible.]  
His eyes burn as he gasps in the now cleaner air, hand braced on a tree. 

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“Fucking asshole……...course you’d, fuckin….” 

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___He breathes out through his teeth and runs a hand through his hair, standing straight. Keen on heading back to his house._ _ _

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___“Shouldn’t have brought your bitch ass flowers.” he mutters._ _ _

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___He doesn’t go back there again_ _ _

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___In tales of the afterlife they say you get to see your loved ones again._ _ _

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___That death can bring a peace and clarity that life never could._ _ _

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___Some picture a place up high, with clouds and clear skies, a soft and comforting embrace._ _ _

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___Some picture a place of flowers, an open field with soft winds that sweep you off your feet and cradle you gently._ _ _

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___Some imagine your minds idea of perfection, an altered reality for the host._ _ _

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For those deemed awful, underserving of such peace, true or otherwise, are told of a place of fire. A place of pain and torture with a sky of red hues. 

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___Many just say that there’s nothing at all, that the person will just, stop existing._ _ _

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___Regardless of all these different tales, one thing almost always remained consistent. You would see your loved ones, or you don’t._ _ _

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_And yet…_

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“Hello, Tommy” 

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He stares at the man in front of him, the only thing that isn’t just, void. And god, it hurts, _it hurts_ , _it hurts so much._

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“Wil- “  
The cracked and choked out words die on his tongue. The man in front of him smiles, wide. He can see darkened, blood? Why is there no color here? and fanged teeth bare themselves with the still widening grin. 

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“Took longer than I expected for you to get here, Tommy” The man steps forward, placing a hand on his matted down hair. 

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Tommy flinches, refusing to look up. Leaving his view to settle on the dark and gaping hole through the man’s chest. The flesh around it seems to pulse in time with the man’s breathing. His breath chokes as tears stain his bruised and bloodied cheeks. 

“But, I suppose you were always a stubborn child huh?” 

His head is tilted upwards and he finds himself unable to resist, meeting eyes that, despite being colorless. He can so vividly see as red. 

“Like a little roach, a little thing that just can’t seem to die. Some think they’re actually immortal in a sense, though…” 

____

Tommy’s tear-filled breaths shutter as the hand on his head runs through his hair. 

“It looks like that’s been proven wrong.” The man chuckles at his own joke, smiling through it all and places his other hand on his shoulder. 

Tommy’s pulled into an embrace, it holds him tight, pressing against broken bones and pressing hard against his lungs. It feels like dying a fourth time. 

____

“It’s good to finally have you here Toms, I’m glad” 

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He can’t help it. Tommy wails, sobs racking his form as the man’s hand on his head presses his face further into the fabric of his jacket. 

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The embrace tightens further. 

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_____In all the tales you either got lucky and saw your loved ones, or you didn’t._ _ _ _ _

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_____And yet, a man now stands in the place of his brother.  
His brother is gone. And now he’s stuck with a monster puppeting is skin and using his name. _ _ _ _ _

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_____The thought only makes him sob louder in the man’s arms._ _ _ _ _

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_____Wilbur holds him the entire time._____

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He would, a month later, hesitantly ask the man on a whim, about flowers. He wouldn’t get n answer. Wilbur doesn’t care about the “meaningless language of flowers” anymore. The man who once did was long gone. Tommy would agree, even as he clenched the hem of his shirt with his battered hands. 

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He should have known it was a waste of time, getting those flowers, not that it matters now, not to him, nor the one he did it for. 

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_____It’s not like he’s ever liked flowers anyway._ _ _ _ _

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_____The house in front of the hybrid, now adorned with flowers, sits silent, still, empty._ _ _ _ _

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_____“Here Tommy” He holds out his hand, flower held with trembling fingers._ _ _ _ _

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_____“Have a flower” He stands and waits._ _ _ _ _

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No one meets him half-way, the stem slips through his fingers. It falls to the ground, discarded petals lay calmly on the ground, fallen off from the drop.  
No one picks it up. 

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No one is there, to pick it up. 

Ranboo’s skin burns and boils as the tears painstakingly drip down his face, leaving only fresh scars and the smell of burnt flesh. 

Tommy would hate the flowers

**Author's Note:**

> this was inspired by 
> 
> Forget Me Not [Dream SMP Animatic]  
> by The Channel Without A Name
> 
> and tommy’s solution to grief | dream smp animatic  
> by sutasuya
> 
> spacing between some lines are a little scuffed cause ao3 is being weird for me, so, sorry bout that
> 
> both are great, much better than the garbage you just read, thanks for reading.


End file.
